Belong to Me
by boschette
Summary: A letter from the past leads Jen's daughter, Amy, to her biological father. Primarily JackDougAmy TRIPLE UPDATED Oct. 11.
1. Default Chapter

**A/N: Thank you, Jack Doug, for your reviews that inspired me to post another Amy story on this board. This one falls after the end of "To Be Myself." So if you haven't read that one, you might want to wait to read this one until you have, because later parts of this story will reveal the outcome of TBM. I took the title of this story from Jack's heartwrenching line to Jen in the finale"You belong to me." Thought it appropriate for the subject in this story.**

**Please let me know what you think.**

Amy Lindley sat on her bed staring down at the crumpled piece of paper in her hands as if she expected the answers to the mysteries of the universe to materialize within its creases. Her heart couldn't seem to settle on an emotion, so she was rocked by a dizzying mixture of sadness, anger, uneasiness, guilt, and, above all, indecision. She had read the words five times before they registered in her brain. Unfolding the paper one more time, she went for a sixth.

The handwriting on the page was loopy and flashy, a little on the careless side, but still somehow feminine. Feminine and strong. A lot like Amy's own. She took a deep breath, and this time began to read aloud to herself, her voice coming out tight and a bit shaky.

"_My dearest Amy, I've been sitting here in this godforsaken hospital bed, holding this stupid plastic pen that has tooth marks all over it and trying to decide how to start. I just talked to Jack, your daddy, and told him that I intended to do this, and he was none too pleased. But I was adamant. I told him to give you this letter when you're mature enough to understand, not before or after. If you're anything like me (and already, I can tell that you are), that will be sooner than he expects, and certainly sooner than he wants to comply. You see, he's giving you this letter under protest—extreme protest. But hey, a mom has her say, and I feel that I owe this to you."_

Amy paused and squeezed her eyes shut momentarily. She could picture her mother's face, a face she had grown up dreaming about, a face that was etched permanently into her brain from pictures and—she liked to believe no matter how unlikely—from her own earliest babyhood memories. With a clear image of Jen in mind, she opened her eyes and went on.

"I'm not going to sugarcoat this for you, baby, because I'm sure you'd see through that in a heartbeat, same as I would. And you'd probably resent the hell out of it, same as I would. You're strong. I know that just from the year we've spent together, and I know that you've only gotten stronger in the time we've been apart. So I won't insult your intelligence or your strength by making this sound better than it is. Here goes. I hope like hell it's the right thing for me to do.

"_Your dad—no, scratch that, your FATHER—has never laid eyes on you, at least as of the day I'm writing this letter. I tell you this hoping against the probability that your first impulse is to run out and remedy that, because I think doing so could result in your getting badly hurt, which is as far from my intent as humanly possible. But I do believe that you should have the option of knowing something about him, and that you should be armed with everything I know about him—even if it's just on the off-chance that you have some need that can't be fulfilled by all the people I left you with who love you more than life. _

"_Amy, your biological father's name is David Marshall. We met in New York and had a brief but infinitely valuable relationship, if only because he gave me the greatest gift I've ever received. He was an artist with, unfortunately for me, the heart of a cutthroat corporate lawyer. I fell in love with his art, his paintings and photographs, and with the man they made him out to be. But his art and his heart were perpetually separated by his sensibilities. I don't know if that makes sense to you, so I'll just say that what it meant as far as I was concerned was that he wasn't really capable of giving back the love I poured into him. And so, when you came into the picture, he wasn't capable of being the kind of father you deserved, and that was one reality I couldn't bear. I wanted to give you the best of everything, sweetheart, and he just wasn't it. Not even close. If you want to know what was it, just take a good look at the man you know as your dad, the man who raised you. Now him, HE's the best I could give you. He's what you deserve."_

Amy paused in her sixth reading of her mother's words to wipe a tear out of the corner of her eye before it had a chance to fall. The dizzying combination of emotions was still hammering away at her heart, and she paused to compose herself before she could continue. Finally she read on, her voice a little steadier this time.

"I never want you to think that anything that happened between your biological father and me was your fault. Conceiving you, being bestowed with the unbelievable honor of being your mom, was the best thing that ever happened to me. And it helped me to see something I'm not sure I would have realized on my own because I was too love-starved to open my eyes and really see him—he wasn't worthy of you, and he would never be able to appreciate the honor the way I did, right from the beginning. The way Jack did, the moment I told him, not twenty-four hours ago, that I want him to take over when I have to leave.

"_I hope you're not sorry I'm telling you this. Jack seems to think it's asking for trouble, that you'd be better off not knowing. But even though you're a baby right now, you're my girl, and I know you. And I think—I hope—that you're relieved to have some questions answered that he probably never had the heart to answer for you. The last time I talked to David was when I was about three months pregnant with you. He was concerned. He wanted to make sure that I had everything I needed, but there was nothing left for us, and we were both fine with that. You were my eye-opener, Amy. I was happier opening my eyes to the truth and the prospect of having a baby to give my life direction than I ever had been in blind love with someone who was not what his artistic expressions portrayed him to be. _

"_If you don't believe anything else I tell you, believe that. I was and am happy that I saw his true colors before I subjected you to a life that wasn't worthy of you._

"_Now I'm going to give you all the information I have on him because I don't want you to grow up thinking that we intentionally kept half of your identity from you. You were robbed of having a mom, Amy, there's no way around that. I won't keep the rest a secret just because I'm afraid for your heart. And what you do with it is your decision and yours alone. I made Jack promise he wouldn't try to stand in your way, if you want to try to track David down. He won't. I've threatened to come back and haunt him if he does, and he insists that he's endured enough harassment from me in life to warrant terror of being besieged by it after I'm gone, too. Daddy's a funny guy, Aim. I'm sure you know that._

"_Please just do me one favor, if you decide to use this information to track David down (which, you need to know, might not result in what you want). Guard your heart. Don't let finding him or not finding him, getting the reception you want or not getting it, change anything about who you are, how you feel about yourself, and your confidence in the people who love you. I've learned a lot in a relatively short time on this earth, and one thing I've learned is that love is not fazed one way or the other by DNA. It couldn't care less who fathered you versus who changed your diapers; whose blood type you share versus who taught you how to ride a bike. I hope you understand that, and that you hold on to it and always remember where you came from. _

"_I've got to wrap this up; I've been writing for an hour now, and there are four overeager people in this room who are now breathing down my neck in anticipation of one of our notorious reminiscing sessions. I'm sure you'll be subjected to plenty of those during your lifetime. Now, for the collective sake of your daddy, aunt Joey, and uncles Pacey and Dawson, I'm going to end this letter and send you all my love and kisses. Be strong, Amy, as I know you will be. Do what you have to do, as long as you're true to yourself. You are my heart. Always and forever—Mom"…_

Amy was losing her battle against the tears. They were flowing freely now, and she didn't even bother to wipe them away. At the bottom of the page were scribbled in that carelessly looping hand two sets of information. David Marshall's was one of them; she had his last known phone number and address as well as his social security number and date of birth. There were also the last known specs for Robert and Caroline Marshall, David's parents. Amy's grandparents. She stared at this last for a period of long moments, the words bleared through a film of tears.

She felt hollow, betrayed. Dad hadn't given this to her. Here she was, sixteen years old, and evidently he still didn't think she was mature enough to handle it. She felt a surge of indignity at that, at his keeping something this monumental away from her, stowed away in the bottom drawer of his file cabinet as if it were of no more importance than old tax records and insurance papers and bank statements. As if it were inconsequential, these words from a mother she didn't remember, this piece of paper that represented an actual connection to real, live people who had her blood in their veins. She had stumbled upon it while rummaging around in the cabinet for her birth certificate, which she needed in order to take her driver's test. Dougie had promised to take her to the DMV tomorrow, and she'd been looking forward to the prospect of the freedom a license promised. She was in no way prepared for finding something like this.

She heard voices downstairs. Daddy and Dougie must be back from dinner. Swiping at her eyes and nose, she took a deep breath, clasped the crumpled letter to her chest, and walked down the stairs like a zombie. She found them in the kitchen, laughing about something Uncle Pacey had said when they ate with him and Aunt Joey at the Icehouse. They turned to her with smiles on their faces.

"Hey, babe," Jack began, then got a good look at her strained and pale face and red-rimmed eyes. "Amy, what—"

With a shaking hand, she held the letter out toward him. Doug looked perplexed, but Jack stared at it with dawning recognition as the remainder of his good-natured smile faded completely. His hand drifted up to reach for the paper, then froze in midair as he looked back at his daughter's face.

"Oh, Amy," he said in a choked tone. "Oh, God."


	2. Chapter 2

As the only one who remained clueless about the scene before him, it was Doug who finally broke the uneasy, charged silence that had settled over the three in the kitchen. Looking back and forth between Amy, whose eyes were fixed on Jack's face, and Jack, whose eyes were fixed on the paper in Amy's hand, he said, "Does anyone care to fill me in?"

They didn't answer. With what looked like a giant effort, Jack tore his gaze away from the wrinkled paper and met Amy's steady, accusatory stare. In a faltering voice, he tried to decide what to ask first. "Where—how did you—when did you—?" And then he gave up on that tack. "Baby, are you okay?"

"No," she said, a thin edge of hurt in her voice. "Not really."

Jack took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair in that distracted way he had. Then he raised the hand to his mouth and pressed his fingers against his lips thoughtfully, looking back at the paper Amy was still holding out to him.

Frustrated and confused, Doug reached for it. "May I?" he asked Amy, raising an eyebrow. Her fingers slackened to allow him to take it from her. He skimmed the letter quickly enough, and when he was done, he too turned to look at Jack, struck speechless for one of the few times in his life.

Jack looked at each of them in turn and finally said, "Amy, it's not what you think. I didn't keep this from you intentionally, okay? I was—I've been waiting for the right time."

"When would that have been?" she asked, fighting to keep her voice from rising. "Because I'm sixteen and mature for my age. Everyone says so. You didn't think I could handle something like this? You didn't think I'd understand the importance of it, or the responsibility that comes along with it? That's funny, Dad, because the only thing I don't understand is why you felt the need to hide something this huge from me."

Jack closed his eyes. "That wasn't what I was doing."

"Oh really? You stuck this letter _from my mother_ in the very back of your file cabinet for safekeeping, right, and you were going to give it to me tomorrow, and, irony of ironies, I happened to find it first. Is that what you're going to tell me?"

Doug stepped toward Amy and put his strong hands on her shoulders, squeezing gently. "Let's just calm down, all right? Let's try to sort this out without doing any more damage."

Amy shook herself free and returned her hard gaze to Jack. "How could you do this to me?" she asked. "You've always told me you wanted me to know everything about my family that there is to know. I have _relatives_ out there somewhere, Dad. I have a biological father, and grandparents that I've never met, and you've kept them from me. How could you do that?"

"Amy…" Doug said weakly.

"Please, just stop for a second. Hear me out," Jack said. "I understand that you're angry and hurt right now, and I'm sorry. But you have to believe that I was doing what I felt—what I _feel_—is right for you by waiting until I was sure you could deal with this. And no, I don't think you're ready to take this on yet, Amy. I don't think you realize how badly you could get hurt here. I—you're just not ready."

"No, Dad, it's _you_ who's not ready!" she spat. "It's you who you're afraid will end up getting hurt. But that's not fair. It's not fair for you to withhold the other side of my family from me just because you're scared of losing me to them."

"That's not it," he said, but his tone was weary. "I hope you think better of me than that."

"I did," she said coldly.

"Enough," Doug intervened, his tone gentle but firm. "Amy, you're getting close to that line, and if you keep going you're going to say things you don't mean and can't take back."

She turned her glistening eyes to Doug. He reached out with his thumb and wiped a tear off her cheek before it fell. She was silent for a few moments, and then she nodded. "I'm going to take a walk."

"Want some company?" Doug asked her softly. She shook her head, but he followed her anyway, glancing back over his shoulder at Jack as they left the kitchen. He was staring at the floor intently, his hands closed into fists so tight that his knuckles were white. Doug resisted the urge to go to him and pull him into his arms. He looked so lost, so vulnerable. But that would have to wait, because right now Amy needed him more, whether or not she knew it. He followed her out the back door and into the calm night.

She turned to face him when they were on the porch. "I'll be okay, Dougie," she said. "I really just want to be alone."

"I know you do," he said. "But just give me a second here."

She sighed but waited for him to go on.

"You know how much he loves you, right?"

She hesitated, then nodded.

"And you know that he would never do anything to hurt you. He'd rather endure a lifetime of torture than cause you a moment's pain. You know that too, right?"

She shrugged. "I guess."

"But sometimes we misjudge situations because we're trying to avoid hurting the people we love, and it backfires on us. That's what happened here, Aim. Your dad kept that letter from you, not to hurt you, not because he wanted to keep you all to himself, but because he still can't look at this young woman you've become and not see his blonde-haired baby girl. I have trouble with that too, you know. You're still my princess, I don't care if you are _sixteen and mature for your age_," he said, teasingly emphasizing her words.

"You have to let me grow up sometime," she said. "I haven't been that baby girl in a long time."

"I know. We both know that. But give us a break, Aim. We've gotten accustomed to our job as your protectors, and it's a hard habit to shake off." He smiled at her, tilting her chin up so that she would look at him. "Don't hurt him for the wrong reasons," he said. "He deserves better than that."

After a moment's hesitation, she nodded. "Now can I go?" she asked.

He released her in response, and watched as she drifted away into the shadows, toward the pier where she always seemed to end up when she had some serious thinking to do.

"She's right, you know," Jack said in a flat voice when Doug returned to the kitchen.

"About what?" he asked, but he already had a pretty good idea.

"Part of the reason I haven't given her that letter yet is that I'm scared to death of what will happen if she finds him. And if he wants her in his life. I mean, how selfish is that?" He laughed dryly. "The test of being a good parent is putting your kid's needs above your own. I think someone should revoke my dad license."

"You're being too hard on yourself, Jack," Doug said firmly. "You would move heaven and earth for that girl, and everyone knows it. Don't you dare beat yourself up because you're human."

"You know, I haven't even read that letter since she handed it to me in that godawful hospital room. The last argument I had with Jen was over that damn letter. I told her she was just paving the way for that asshole, the waste of space who was never worthy of breathing the same air as Jen, to hurt Amy too. She granted him that power by writing the letter, by offering Amy the option of giving him the privilege of knowing her. She was so determined, though." He smiled, a bittersweet twitch of the lips. "You really couldn't argue with Jen when she'd made up her mind about something." After a pause, he went on in a more normal tone. "I've thought about giving it to her, more than once. When she was going through that bad time last year, I thought about it. But I kept telling myself she wasn't ready. She's still a kid. She's still _our_ kid. The thought of him laying eyes on her, daring to speak to her, to act like he deserves that, it just makes me sick!" His eyes blazed.

Doug picked up the crumpled paper off the counter, moved closer to Jack, and held it toward him. "I think it's time you read it," he said. "Read it from Amy's eyes. It might help you come to terms with this. And no matter what happens next, we're both going to have to come to terms with it, because now the ball's in Amy's court. Jen—your best friend, Amy's mother—put it there a long time ago."

Jack reluctantly took the letter and stared contemplatively at the still-familiar handwriting of his long-lost best friend. "I'm not sure I want to," he said. "But I will."

Doug nodded and reached out to squeeze Jack's hand, which was clammy and trembling. "I'll be upstairs if you need me." He turned and walked out of the kitchen, leaving Jack standing there with tears in his eyes.

As soon as Doug's footsteps had receded, Jack boosted himself up on the counter with his legs dangling and began to read. It hurt at first. He could picture Jen as vividly as if she had appeared before him in the harsh overhead lights of the kitchen: sitting propped up by pillows in a terribly sanitary white room, clinging to that unsinkable dry wit of hers and the raw honesty of her love for her daughter. It hadn't been easy for her to write this letter, as she had made her brave way toward death, and it wasn't easy for him to read it.

By the time he finished, Jen's ghost had prevailed, and he had lost his battle against the tears.


	3. Chapter 3

When Amy was five years old, she had gotten separated from Jack and Doug at the mall. Actually, she'd separated herself from them on purpose. They had promised to take her to the toy store when they were done with their errands, but had instead spent what she felt was an inordinate amount of time browsing in the men's clothing department. Bored, cranky, and feeling just a little spiteful, she wandered away when they weren't watching and set off to find the toys by herself. She had become hopelessly lost almost immediately, and to this day she remembered the feeling of panic, confusion, and regret that had gripped her when she realized that not only couldn't she find where she had intended to go, but she couldn't find her way back, either.

She'd probably only been lost for ten minutes or so, but it felt like an eternity. Towering clothing racks blocked her view, adults rushed past in a blur of unfamiliar legs, and she fought tears with every ounce of strength and determination her little heart could muster. She felt like she might wet her pants, and the horror of that potential humiliation joined forces with the general terror that threatened to consume her. She still remembered the sweeping, knee-buckling wave of relief that crashed down when Dougie's voice rang out from behind her. "Jack, over here," he'd called over his shoulder as he spotted her, standing small and wide-eyed and frozen in the middle of the shoe department. Amy charged him and threw her arms around his leg, clinging to it like a drowning person to a life raft. He bent down and plucked her off, lifting her up into his strong arms. "Amy Lindley, you know better than to walk away from us," he scolded as he hugged her, too relieved to be really angry.

Jack joined them, and as Amy was transferred from Doug's arms to his, she began to cry softly. "Thank God," Jack muttered into the baby-fine tendrils of her hair, hugging her tightly against his chest. "You scared us, sweetheart, you scared us so bad. Don't ever do that again!"

And as she clung to his neck and cried and breathed in his familiar Daddy scent, she had sworn that she wouldn't. That she would stay with him forever, and never leave his side again. It was a baby promise, naïve words from innocent lips—but she had meant it from the bottom of her heart.

She sat on the edge of the pier and swung her legs over the black night waters, random snatches of her mother's words on a battered stack of stationery flashing through her mind.

…he wasn't capable of being the kind of father you deserved … he wasn't worthy of you, and he would never be able to appreciate the honor the way I did, right from the beginning … the way Jack did … but there was nothing left for us … love is not fazed one way or the other by DNA … I hope you understand that, and that you hold on to it and always remember where you came from …

Her father was out there somewhere. On some level, she supposed she'd always known he must be. She wasn't naïve, and by the time she reached an age at which the standard grown-up responses to difficult questions children raise would no longer suffice, she had pieced together her own makeshift version of her parents' story. A slip-up here and there had helped her fill in the gaps—Pacey forgetting she was in the room and saying something about "Jen's deadbeat sperm donor" before being shushed by a loudly cleared throat and a sharp look; an overheard conversation between Jack and Joey about some long-ago reunion of their friends, including a newly pregnant Jen, who was "still reeling from the breakup, she was just too proud to admit it," Joey had said. "And the whole time she was focused on us, not her own problems. Not her own heartache." And Jack had replied softly, reflectively, "Yeah, that was our Jen."

But seeing Jen's own description of the events preceding Amy's birth had actually eased Amy's constant, underlying uneasiness about her biological father. Her mom hadn't said he was a terrible person. He wasn't abusive, or evil, or any of those monstrous things she had tried not to imagine all these years. It sounded to her like he had just been dedicated to his work, too much so to give back his share in their relationship. So that didn't necessarily make for the greatest father-type, but it was certainly nothing to condemn him for. Amy didn't condemn him, she realized with relief. She couldn't condemn him. He was a real relative, a _blood_ relative. And as much as she adored the men who had raised her and the others at the periphery of their patchwork family who'd had a hand in doing so, the magnetic pull of a real father tugged at her heart and her mind.

_Don't ever walk away from us again, Amy._

_I won't, Daddy, I won't! I was so scared._

I know you were, sweetheart. Just hold onto Daddy's hand, okay? That's my girl. Hold my hand tight, and you'll never get lost again. We'll stick together from now on, right Aim? Good girl.

Something else tugged at her heart as well. Something that had a sharp, sour edge, something that settled heavily on her chest as if it planned to be there for a while. She had an idea that it was guilt.

"Nothing for me to feel guilty about," she said aloud, her voice strangely flat in the still night air. "It's not like I'd be betraying them."

Jack was still sitting on the counter in the kitchen with the letter clutched in his hand when Amy came back inside. She thought he looked like he'd been crying, and she considered sneaking past the doorway and slipping upstairs so he wouldn't have to let her see that if he didn't want to. But he looked up when the door opened, and their gazes locked, and he beckoned her toward him.

"I'm tired," she said hesitantly. "I'm going to bed."

"Not yet, you're not," he said, surprisingly firm. "Come here for a minute, Amy. Sit down."

She perched on the edge of one of the kitchen chairs, looking at him expectantly, a little fearfully, not knowing what he wanted from her. Was he going to forbid her to do what her own mother had expressly consented to before her death? Could he possibly do that? He didn't speak for so long that she wondered if he even knew what he wanted to say. Finally, he cleared his throat and fixed his eyes on hers steadily. They were red-rimmed, but straightforward, strong. The tears she suspected had been there before were gone now.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

That was the last thing she had expected. She was taken aback for a few moments, not sure what to say, not sure, in fact, what she planned to do. "What do you mean?" she asked, stalling.

"I want to know if you plan to pursue this."

"If I plan to—" she drifted off, puzzled. "I don't know," she said defensively, shaking her head, not wanting to have this conversation right now. Not now, with tears drying on her dad's face and a crystal-clear memory of being lost in a department store playing repeatedly, for some unfathomable reason, in the theater of her mind.

"I think you do know," he countered. "I think you know very well."

"What do you want to hear?"

"The truth, Amy. I want you to tell me the truth." He shook the letter in the air. "Are you going to use this information to try to find your—your father?" He tripped over the word, his lip curling in an involuntary reaction of distaste.

Amy was stunned at the sound of that word coming from his lips. It sounded wrong. It sounded hurtful. She stared at him with wide blue eyes, wondering if the anger she saw and sensed in him was directed at her, at her mother, at her biological father … or just at a world that would pile disastrous coincidences on top of one another until the resulting situation resembled the one they now faced. She had no way of knowing.

"I don't know," she repeated. Then, when his gaze didn't waver, "I'd like to try."

He nodded, his lips pursing together so tightly they became a thin white line. "I figured as much," he said.

"Dad…"

"You don't have to explain anything to me, Amy," he interrupted. "It's none of my business what you do about this."

"Dad, please. I mean, are you … is this …" she faltered, knowing what she meant but not how to say it. "Are we okay?"

He lowered himself off the counter and walked over to her chair. She thought he was going to hug her, but instead, he tossed the letter onto the table in front of her with a casual flick of the wrist. "I love you, Amy. You know that," he said.

Words that perhaps should have brought comfort, reassurance, but didn't. Not in the almost bitter, defeated tone he used, not when he turned his back on her and walked out of the kitchen without a backward glance. She sat there for a long time, staring after him, silent and hurt and guilty. The letter lay before her, a relic of the past with far-reaching implications, ripples in a sea of relative calm—heavy with the potential for broken hearts.


	4. Chapter 4

"Oh my _God_!"

Amy sighed. "Jess, that's the fifth time you've said that. I think we've pretty well established that this is a big deal."

"I'm sorry," Jessie said, rolling over on her stomach on Amy's bed without taking her eyes away from the letter in her hand. "I just don't know what else to say. What did _you_ say?"

"You mean after I finished chewing him out for not giving me this on his own?" Amy leaned back against Ben, who put his hands on her shoulders and began to massage them. "What was I supposed to say? I _still_ don't know what to say, and I've had a whole day to process it."

"You're not supposed to know how to handle something like this," Ben assured her gently. "It would be weird if you did. But your reaction doesn't matter much anymore; it's over and done with. The thing I'm wondering is, have you thought about what you're going to do?"

Amy smiled sourly. "That's the question of the hour. At least you guys won't look at me like I'm committing some unthinkable betrayal when I answer. Not like he did." She sighed. "There's only one thing I can do. I'm going to try to find him."

The group was silent for several moments following this revelation. Finally Andy spoke up from his perch on the edge of the windowsill. "I'd start by calling the grandparents," he said. "The odds are better that they've stayed put for fifteen years. I seriously doubt he's still living where he was back then. But his parents will know how to get you in touch with him."

Amy raised her eyes to her friend's, slightly alarmed by hearing this monumental undertaking broken down so logically, so casually. She had a clear mental image of making that phone call, of gathering her courage around her like a shroud and managing to utter something unequivocally brilliant along the lines of, "Hi. I'm your granddaughter. I'm looking for my dad, your son. Can you give me a number for him?" Her stomach rolled uneasily at the thought.

Andrew offered her a small smile of encouragement. "You don't have to tell them who you are right away," he said, reading her thoughts as he had become so uncannily good at doing over their lifelong friendship.

She took a deep breath. "God, I don't know if I can do this."

Ben kissed the back of her head. "You can do this," he said firmly. "If anyone can do this, you can."

"I'll do it," Jessie offered suddenly, finally tearing her eyes away from the letter that had transfixed her. "You want me to do it for you, Aim?"

"No," Andy answered for her. "This is Amy's show, Jess. She needs to do this herself."

"Not so fast," Amy said. "I mean, if I'm not going to tell them who I am anyway, then this is strictly an informational phone call, right? So it doesn't matter who does the actual asking for the information."

"Right," Jessie agreed. "I can play it cool, guys. You think I can't? I have the soul of an actress, you know."

"Amy, I think that's a bad idea," Andy said. "I think you need to handle this thing by yourself."

"She didn't ask you, man," Ben said quietly. "It's up to her. Whatever she's comfortable with, we are going to support."

There was a short, tense silence during which Amy prayed they weren't going to start the bickering that had become routine ever since the last scene in their two-year-long drama had played out. The two boys had only recently crossed the line to this side of civil, and she didn't think she could bear a step backward now, especially under these circumstances, when she needed both of them so badly. Because her back was to Ben, she shot Andy a pleading look, one that he caught and silently obeyed, dropping his eyes back to his lap and biting down on his response to Ben. The tension drained away as quickly as it had reared its head, and everyone in the room relaxed.

"So, Jess, will you?" Amy asked, ignoring the fact that Andy rolled his eyes.

"Hello, have we met?" Jessie said, sitting up and bouncing slightly on the bed with excitement. "This will be so cool! I've always thought I'd make a good private eye."

"Let's keep things in perspective, at least," Andy said. "Jess, keep in mind that this isn't a game. This is important."

Jessie frowned at him. "You never give me any credit," she complained. "I know how important this is, Andrew. So are we doing it now?"

Amy's stomach flopped over again. "I don't know. You know how low the odds are that they'll even still be at this number? It's like slim and nil. So this is probably pointless anyway, and we're all wasting breath and time discussing it." She glanced from face to face. "Right?"

Ben locked his arms together around her chest and gave her a comforting squeeze. Andrew averted his eyes during this exchange, still far from being able to stomach displays of affection between them. Jessie was looking at the letter again.

"You don't have to do anything," Ben said. "I mean, you don't have to act on this right this minute, you can think about it more if you need to."

"I'll lose my nerve if I wait," she said, laughing nervously. She swallowed painfully over her dry throat. "Let's do it."

"You want us here?" Andrew asked, standing up and eyeing her with concern. "We can go, Ben and I."

Amy glanced between them and shook her head firmly. "I want you all here," she said. "Please stay."

Andy reached for her hand. "You know we will," he said. "Whatever you need."

That morning had been a terribly awkward, emotionally charged one in Amy's house. Jack had barely said two words to her when they happened upon each other in the kitchen, and Amy had seriously begun to wonder if she was doing permanent damage to him, to their relationship. But what right did he have to be mad at her about this? Hurt, maybe—but angry? It didn't make sense to her. She had found Dougie on the front porch, lacing up his shoes to go jogging on the beach.

"Why is he being like this?" she asked him.

He turned around to look at her, and if he was surprised by her sudden appearance or the directness of her question, he didn't show it. "I wish I could tell you," he said. "I really don't know either. He won't talk to me about this."

"Did you try?"

"I tried, sweetie. I tried till I was blue in the face. I told him he's being unfair to you and that you need his support more than ever right now. But all I can tell you, Aim, is that he's not quite ready to offer it just yet."

"What am I supposed to do, Dougie?" Amy asked. "I mean, I want his support, but if he's not going to give it, then I have to do what I feel is right anyway. With or without his support. So, if I do, is he going to hate me forever for that?"

Doug stood up and approached her, his blue eyes direct and sincere. "You know better than that," he said. "He's hurting, Amy, that's all. He's hurting and scared and probably a little angry, too—not at you, but at having to deal with this situation before he was ready to." He reached out to brush a strand of hair out of her eyes. "He'll get over it," he said.

"Are _you_ okay with this?" she asked, looking up at him questioningly. "I mean, does this hurt you too?"

He smiled a little wistfully. "I'm okay with this only as long as you are," he said. "If you end up getting hurt here, that's when my okayness runs out."

She nodded. "I guess limited-time-only support is better than nothing," she said, smiling slightly. "Thanks, Dougie."

Amy watched Jessie's fingers press the buttons with a mounting sense of all-consuming unease. She was clutching Ben's hand in one of hers and Andy's in the other, squeezing both so tightly her fingers were numb. Thank God Jess had offered to make the call; Amy felt absolutely incapable of coherent speech at the present time. It would be terrible to make contact with her paternal grandparents only to manage a series of unintelligible grunts and have them hang up on what they mistook for an obscene phone call. She squeezed her eyes shut as Jessie finished dialing and put the phone to her ear, clearing her throat for good measure.

Time slowed to a crawl. A gut-wrenching, heart-throbbing, inescapable, sickening crawl. A year might have elapsed between the time Jessie finished dialing and the moment that she finally opened her mouth to speak. Amy was on the verge of snatching the phone away from her and hanging up when that moment came.

"Yes, hi," Jess said brightly. Waves of white noise crashed in Amy's ears, and she gripped the boys' hands even tighter, terrified that she was going to pass out and miss this. Ben kissed her cheek, effectively bringing her back to the glaring clarity of reality. "May I please speak with Mrs. Marshall?"

Silence. Silence. Silence. Jessie's eyes revealed nothing as she listened to a response. Amy could hear her heartbeat, that's how still the room was.

"I see."

_She sees? She sees WHAT? Oh God, what are we doing?_

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that, I—yes. No, I didn't. I'm sorry, but is this Robert Marshall? Her husband?"

Amy's eyes were closed so she didn't see Jessie's face suddenly turn white and her mouth fall open. Ben and Andy were both alarmed, glancing at each other over Amy's head with twin expressions of concern.

Jessie seemed to struggle to recover herself momentarily, then continued to the person on the phone. "Well, Mr. Marshall, thank you for letting me know. I'm sorry to have bothered you. What?" she paused, biting her lip nervously. "Oh. I know her from … from church. Yes. We met at church awhile back."

Amy jerked her head back up and looked at Jessie. Church? What? Was that the backstory they had agreed upon? Had they even come up with a backstory in case someone on the other end of the line had wanted one? What were they thinking, going into this so ill-prepared!

And as quickly as that, Jessie had hung up. Everyone's eyes were fixed on her, and hers were fixed on Amy.

"Don't you dare make us ask you what happened," Ben said. "Spill it."

Jessie swallowed hard, reached out, and placed a hand on Amy's knee. "Sweetie, I just talked to your father."


	5. Chapter 5

"You're getting ahead of yourself. Back up." Doug held a hand out as Amy tried to speak over him, breathless and babbling in her excitement. "Okay, so Jessie talked to him. I got that part. But tell me what led up to that."

Amy shifted impatiently in her armchair. Across the living room, on the sofa, Doug was sprawled out with a bottle of beer in his hand and the newspaper, crumpled up and forgotten, at his side. "She asked for Mrs. Marshall first, and the man who answered the phone told her that she passed away about a year ago. And so she asked if she was speaking with Mrs. Marshall's husband, Robert, and he said, 'No, actually, this is her son, David Marshall.' My father, Dougie! Jess talked to my father!"

Doug nodded, a calm counterbalance to Amy's bubbling enthusiasm. "When did you decide to make this phone call?" he asked after a moment. "I mean, did you even have enough time to think it through?"

"Dougie, it's been sixteen years," Amy said quietly. "That's long enough."

"Yeah, but by the same token, what would one more day have hurt?"

Amy frowned. "You're sounding like Dad now. I thought you wanted me to do this."

He laughed shortly. "I don't think I ever said I wanted you to do this. I said that I support you in your decision. I didn't realize you were going to do it so hastily, without talking to me or Jack first."

"You're kidding, right? You wanted me to talk to Dad about this? Have you been around the two of us lately? He's not even talking to me. I'm sure a heartfelt discussion about my pending search for my biological father would have gone over wonderfully."

"Amy, don't get sarcastic," he said. "I just wish you had given it a little more time, that's all I'm saying."

"But Dougie, for all he knows, he spoke to an old friend of his mom's on the phone today. He has no reason to believe his estranged daughter was on the other end of the line. So what have I done, really? Besides get confirmation about where he is, and that he's alive?"

He forced a smile. "You're right, Aim," he said. "I know. I'm just … I'm thinking about your dad, and how he's going to take this news."

"Who says we have to tell him?" Doug opened his mouth to respond, when another voice startled both of them.

"Tell me what?"

Amy and Doug looked up at the doorway to the foyer, where Jack was standing, eyeing them suspiciously.

"What are you guys not going to tell me?" he repeated. The lack of curiosity in his tone made it evident that he had a pretty good idea of the subject matter at hand, if not the specifics.

Doug glanced at Amy quickly, trying to communicate an "I'll handle this" expression, but Amy spoke first, her tone casual and matter-of-fact, her eyes never leaving Jack's face.

"Jessie called my father's parents earlier today to see if she could get a number for him, or some information we could use to find him. He answered the phone."

Doug closed his eyes in a slight wince, wishing like hell that Amy had let him smooth this over first. Jack's eyes looked blank as he stared at his daughter, but Doug could sense raw emotion roiling just under the surface.

"I see," he said coolly. "Did you talk to him?"

"No, Jess hung up after that. But now at least I know how to get in touch with him."

Jack nodded. "That's great. Beautiful. Give the son of a bitch my best when you do."

Amy's eyes widened in shock as Jack turned to go back upstairs.

"Hey!" Doug shouted at his partner's retreating back. Jack froze in his tracks and turned slowly to look at him.

"What?" he said coldly.

"I think you're going too far now," Doug said.

"Well I'm sorry you think so."

"Daddy, please!" Amy said. "Don't be like this. You're making this so much harder."

He met her pleading gaze, and there was a flicker of emotion in his eyes. He seemed to be trying to settle on the right words to say, but after a few moments, he turned and walked back up the stairs. Presently, they heard the bedroom door slam shut.

Amy buried her face in her hands, feeling as if she'd been kicked in the stomach. She heard Doug shove his newspaper away and get up from the couch. He wrapped his arms around her and gave her a tight squeeze. "I'm sorry, baby," he said. "I'm sorry he's hurting you. He doesn't want to do that."

She looked up at him and shook her head. "I think you're wrong there, Dougie," she said. "I think that's exactly what he's trying to do."

Doug took a deep breath, kissed Amy on the forehead, and stood up. "We'll continue our conversation later, okay?" he asked. "I've got some business to attend to first." Amy nodded and watched him leave the room, heading upstairs after Jack.

He had never looked at her like that before, with such coldness. It was like a slap in the face. Was his love conditional after all? As long as she was his daughter and Doug's daughter and theirs alone, as long as she never developed any kind of simple curiosity about the other side of her identity that was a mystery to her, the side of herself that was alive through more than just the well-meaning words and stories of family members.

_Give the son of a bitch my best when you do._

Amy took a deep breath. Suddenly she was overcome by a crazy notion, but one with a magnetic power that was undeniable. She went back to her bedroom to retrieve the letter.

"Listen to me, Jack. You can be an asshole to me all you want, but you better stop it with Amy. Do you know what you're doing to her? Do you care? Because just now, it seemed like you didn't give a damn. That girl is sixteen years old, she worships the ground you walk on, and you are breaking her heart. And for what? Because you're not secure enough in the way you've raised her to tolerate her finding someone who actually shares some DNA with her? Are you that weak?"

Jack turned from the window to look at Doug. "Are you done?" he asked.

"I don't know. Are you ashamed of the way you've been acting?"

"Look, you can handle this any way you want. As for me, I think—no, I _know_—it's a terrible idea and it's going to end in disaster, and I don't have to stand by and be a willing party to my daughter's heartbreak."

"You're pushing her away. You're making it easier for her to find something in him to fill a void that you're leaving in her life right now. Is that what you want?"

"No! God, no, of course not. But he's not going to fill any voids for her, Doug. He's going to tear her apart the same way he did with Jen. And you know what? I'm pissed off at her for putting Amy in this position. Can you believe that? I'm pissed at her! Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to be mad at a dead person?"

His voice cracked with emotion, and Doug reached for him and pulled him roughly into an embrace. "Just don't turn your anger at Jen against Amy," Doug said into his ear. "That might be the biggest mistake you'll ever make."

Amy sat with the letter before her and the phone in her hand. She simultaneously wished that her friends were still here and was relieved that they weren't. She had sent them away after the earlier phone call, telling them that she needed some time alone to process everything, thanking them for their support, and promising to call them all later. She knew they were worried. She knew Andy, at least, would discourage her from what she was about to do. She knew that Ben would be logically concerned but that he would stand by her no matter what.

With his face set in her mind, she pressed the "Talk" button on the phone and began to dial a New York number from a crumpled sheet of paper that lay on the bed before her. She didn't think about the magnitude of what she was doing, she didn't have an emergency Plan B, she didn't even know what her opener would be. And she certainly didn't stop to think about the implications of doing this out of bitterness, out of a childish desire to get back at her dad for making her feel like she was betraying him.

She cleared her throat and waited as the phone rang miles away. And when it was picked up on the third ring, when a deep, clear male voice said "Hello," there was no time to reconsider. Amy spoke before she thought.

"David Marshall?"

"Yes, this is he."

"I'm Amy Lindley. I'm your daughter."


	6. Chapter 6

The monotonous rhythm of the porch swing's back and forth motion was hypnotic, and Amy found herself lost in it, in the warmth of the breeze caressing her cheeks, tossing occasional wisps of blonde hair against her mouth. The brilliant sparks of sunlight off the water in the near distance and the burden of thoughts too heavy for such a pleasant spring afternoon were all that kept her from dozing off.

When the screen door squeaked open on its rusty hinges, she kept her eyes half-focused on the dazzling play of sunlight on the creek, refusing to look at him, afraid he might be able to read her mind. He sat down next to her on the swing. She could feel the weight of his eyes on her but didn't know what he expected her to say. So she said nothing. The silence spun out between them. She knew he would break it first, and he did.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I've been acting like a jerk."

She didn't answer, and he took that as a cue to go on.

"You're allowed to agree with me, you know. I've been a jerk, and I think it's a unanimous assessment. I know Doug thinks so. I think so. And I'm sure you do too. At least I hope you realize it's been me and not you. You know that, right? Amy?"

She managed a nod.

"Good. Because I don't want you to feel guilty about any of this. None of it is your fault, not by a long shot. There's no excuse for my making you feel that way when you're going through something that must be so difficult and confusing. I should have been supporting you, not giving you grief even if it's just because I'm scared for you." He took a deep breath. "So what do you say, will you forgive me?"

She finally tore her gaze from the water and looked at her dad. It crossed her mind to say "Only if you'll forgive me for what I'm going to do," but she didn't. Instead, she just said, "Sure. You're forgiven."

He put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed, planting a kiss on the side of her head. "That's my girl," he said. "Now, can we talk about all of this?"

Amy hesitated. "Right now?" she asked. "I don't know if I'm up for that, Dad."

"No? Oh. All right then," he said, sounding a little disappointed. "Well, you'll tell me when you are, right? I mean it, Amy, I want you to feel like you can talk to me about this. I _need_ you to talk to me about this."

"I don't really think that's a good idea."

He looked at her, his eyebrows furrowing. "Yeah? Why not?"

Amy sighed heavily. "I think it's obvious, Dad. Look, you can tell me you realize you've been acting like a jerk, and I can forgive you, and we can move on from this and try to pretend it never happened. But it would be a lie. I can't forget the last few days and what this whole thing has done to you, and I can't promise you that I'll be unfailingly honest with you about it, because I know how much it hurts you. You can't talk your way around that; I'm not stupid and I know it's true. And if I can't be unfailingly honest with you, I would rather not talk to you about this at all. Not because I'm mad at you, but because I don't want you to have to pretend to be supportive when it's tearing you apart."

Jack studied his daughter for several moments, struck by how Amy seemed less to remind him of Jen than to actually _merge_ with her during these occasional analytical diatribes. "I would rather know," he said softly.

Amy leaned her head against his shoulder and didn't answer.

Jack drained the last of his cocktail and placed the empty glass back on the Icehouse bar. Standing across from him and playing barkeep for the evening, Pacey set to work on a refill. He was about to slide the glass back toward Jack when Doug's hand intervened, closing over Pacey's wrist and preventing him from completing the transaction.

"He's done," he said firmly.

Jack gave him a raised-eyebrow look. "Wait just a damn minute, Sheriff," he said. "Last time I checked, I was perfectly capable of making those decisions for myself."

Pacey raised his hands in surrender and backed away. "I'm out of this," he said, and gestured toward his wife. "Joey, care to mediate?"

"Jack, you have a very valid reason to be upset, but I think you're putting more concern into this whole situation than it merits," Joey said from the bar stool on Jack's other side, attempting to sway her friend's attention and diffuse the argument before it could begin. "Amy has a good head on her shoulders; she's going to think this through rationally before she does anything about it."

"And what's the worst that could happen anyway?" Doug added, earning himself a sharp glare from Jack.

"She could go and live with him and never speak to us again."

There was a general murmur of protest from the other three. "Not going to happen," Pacey said. "Jack, really, do you think any of us would _let_ that happen?"

"Do you think _Amy_ would?" Joey added. "You're not being rational."

"This is the asshole who abandoned Jen when she got pregnant; I doubt he's been standing by to atone for his past mistakes by taking responsibility for a sixteen-year-old girl he's never laid eyes on," Doug said. "Besides, who says she even wants to meet him? Or that he won't just tell her to get lost?"

Jack winced. "And what do you think that will do to her?" he demanded. "Do you actually think I'm sitting here _hoping_ for my little girl to get her heart stomped on by this guy? Of course that's not what I want!" He took a deep breath. "I just think there's more going on than she's telling us. I sensed something when I was talking to her this afternoon. She's hiding something."

Doug bristled slightly. "Can you blame her?" he asked, trying to keep the accusatory note out of his tone but helpless to stop it from creeping in.

"I talked to her about that, Doug. I apologized."

Doug shrugged. "I'm sorry, Jack, but I think this might be a case of too little, too late. You think she's going to open up to you about this now that you've shown her the very mention of this topic has the power to make you act like the world's biggest jerk? She's scared to death of hurting you anymore than she thinks she already has. Of making that wedge you've driven between you any bigger."

"Did she tell you this?"

"Not in so many words, but it's what she was getting at."

"So she's fine with talking to you about it."

"Why wouldn't she be, Jack? I'm not the one who's been walking around the house for days acting like she has just perpetrated some unthinkable act of familial betrayal. And are you kidding me? You should be glad she's talking to someone about this besides that boyfriend of hers; why does it always have to be you?"

"Enough, both of you," Joey intervened. "Let's focus on the important issue here, okay? Our Amy is a smart girl, a _mature_ girl. This is her decision, and fighting about it amongst ourselves isn't going to change whatever it is that she wants to do. Doug … ease up, all right? He's just exercising his parental right to worry."

"Well-put, Jo," Pacey said, slipping into his mischievous grin. "Especially the part about Dougie being an ass. People just don't put him in his place often enough for my liking."

Joey smiled and rolled her eyes as Doug reached threateningly across the bar and Pacey effortlessly ducked under his hand. It was nice to see that some things, like brotherly sparring, never changed.

The pier had once again worked its magnetic magic. Amy did her best thinking out here, especially under a sky heavy with stars, as this one was. She lay on her back with her head propped in Ben's lap, looking up past him to seek out the familiar constellations overhead. Pacey had taught her about constellations when she was just a little girl. One of her favorite things to do was accompany her uncle on nighttime sails on his boat, and she adored those quiet, sleepy times as they drifted back to dock. He would draw her into his lap, point up at the sparkling sky, and tell her stories of the patterns he traced for her with his finger. The night sky had always elicited for her this well-worn, comforting remembrance of childhood.

"So, Lindley … are you sure about this?" Ben asked, keeping his tone casual but his meaning clear.

Amy shifted her gaze from the stars to his clear, direct green eyes and offered him a mysterious half smile. "Why do you ask?"

"Look, I've been very respectful of your pensive trance this evening, but I've got to admit, curiosity is getting the better of me. What are you thinking about?"

"It's not obvious?"

"I mean specifically. You've told me about the conversation, you've told me your plan. But this is huge, Amy. This is a really important decision, and I think you need to make sure it's what you want to do before we just jump in the car and go."

"I am sure, Ben," Amy said firmly. "This isn't something I take lightly, you know."

Ben sighed. "I know, Lindley, but—"

"He was the one who suggested this. I mean, sure, he sounded a little weirded out, but who wouldn't be? It wasn't exactly the routine phone call from a telemarketer he was probably expecting. Besides, I told myself that if he was willing to meet me, then I would have my answer."

"It's not the meeting him part I'm worried about," Ben said quietly, looking out at the dark water. "At least not completely, because I understand that you feel you have to do that. What bothers me is the not telling your family part."

Amy sat up, her blue eyes flashing dangerously. "I've explained that to you, Ben. If this is about not wanting to be implicated in this, then you don't have to drive me to New York. Jessie will do it, or I'll beg Andy. He won't be happy about it, but he'll—"

"Amy, stop, that's not it." He turned back toward her and caught both of her hands, squeezing them for emphasis. "I wouldn't let anyone else do this for you. If Doug ends up killing me for kidnapping you and Jack gives me an F in English in retaliation, so be it. I just think maybe you should tell _someone something_ about what you're doing. How about Joey?"

"Under different circumstances, Joey would be my best bet; I've already thought of that. But in this case, she would be _obligated_ to tell my dads, especially if they catch on and realize I'm not at Jessie's."

"And remind me why it would be the end of the world for them to know."

Amy sighed. "Because," she said after a moment. "It would break my dad's heart."


End file.
